


Man vs Nature

by bauble, motetus



Series: Selkie [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 01:52:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14250537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauble/pseuds/bauble, https://archiveofourown.org/users/motetus/pseuds/motetus
Summary: After the Inception job, Arthur goes on vacation in the Faroe Islands. He comes upon a walrus that may be more than it seems.Written for Inception Reverse Bang, based on Motetus' beautiful art.





	Man vs Nature

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mating behaviour of the Atlantic walrus, Odobenus rosmarus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4899118) by [motetus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/motetus/pseuds/motetus). 



There's a leak.

At least, that's what Arthur thinks it is. He stares very hard at the bottom of the rowboat, trying to determine if the water there is rising or remaining steady. After five minutes pass and the boat doesn't sink, he decides there's no immediate danger and gingerly takes a seat inside.

After locating a dry spot to rest his feet (he's wearing his favorite leather boots, clearly a poor decision), he grasps the oars and gives them an ungainly push. It appears that the hours spent on the rowing machine in the gym weren't a total waste; the boat moves a bit.

He splashes himself in the face un-tethering the boat from the dock and thinks: _at least there's no one else here to see this_.

He manages to get a respectable distance from land: within swimming distance should something catastrophic happen, but far enough to be surrounded by no noise but the water, the breeze, the cry of gulls.

Peaceful and isolated is how one might describe the environment. That’s why people do this kind of stuff, isn't it? To be silent, alone, away from the incessant buzz of technology and the stress of civilization.

Arthur surveys the landscape: serene blue waters, verdant green land and mountains in the distance. There are clouds overhead, but the weather forecast didn’t call for rain. It's pretty, he supposes. He's never been especially into nature.

He glances at his watch. Has it only been an hour since he pushed off from land? It's barely ten in the morning and he scheduled a whole day on the boat doing—well, whatever it is people do on boats. Relaxing, or something.

He sits for another fifteen minutes. He examines the water in the boat (has not increased). He checks the leather of his shoes (not wet, thankfully). He looks into the sea and doesn’t see much. It's dark, and there's movement several feet below; might be seaweed, might be some other marine life. Hard to tell.

He rows himself a bit further from shore, comes back in again. He rows with one arm, then the other. Switches back to both and does the aquatic equivalent of donuts.

Arthur checks his watch. Only two hours have passed.

Now he's hungry.

He has no food to eat. He brought nothing besides a Swiss army knife because Eames challenged him to an 'unplugged' vacation. To prove he could do it, Arthur left most of his belongings and went to the most remote place he'd ever heard of: the Faroe Islands.

Arthur hadn't left everything at home, of course. His cell phone and PASIV and laptop are all safely stored in his hotel room. There are limits. 

Fucking Eames, Arthur thinks, as his stomach announces itself with a growl of disgruntlement.

* * * * *

_PAST_

"Why the Faroe Islands?" Ariadne asked while waiting for the glue on her models to dry. 

"It's an archipelago full of untouched nature and spectacular geological sights," Eames replied.

"Didn't figure you for the nature kind of guy," Arthur remarked, glancing up from the painfully tedious task of sorting Robert Fischer's cell phone bills.

"My first memories are of the sea," Eames said.

"Good fishing out there?" Ariadne asked.

"Yes, rather delicious." Eames paused. "Do you believe in magic?"

"What, like pulling a bunny out of a hat?" she replied. "Come on."

"Clarke's Law says that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," Arthur said and shrugged. "So sure, why not. We can share dreams, after all."

"Indeed." Eames smiled, his crooked teeth showing slightly. "There are legends that mystical creatures roam the Faroe Islands. Mermaids, mermen—even selkies."

"You're talking about half-fish people wearing shell bras," Ariadne said.

"Oh, no shells required. What do mythical creatures need with clothing?"

She snorted. "Sounds like the real reason you like the Faroe Islands is that there might be naked fish women swimming around."

"Ariadne, really," Eames protested. "I prefer to think of it as a place filled with undiscovered wonders."

"Mermaids I get, but what's a selkie?" Arthur asked.

"It's a seal with a person inside," Ariadne said. "Like, they can peel off their seal pelt, wear it, and walk around as a human."

"You make that sound utterly terrifying," Eames said. "I assure you, Arthur, it's not as unnerving as it might first appear. A selkie can be a seal, a walrus, or any large mammal while out in the ocean. When they choose to venture onto land, they shed their fins in exchange for legs."

"Human bodies are much better adapted for dancing on moonlit beaches, which is a favorite selkie pastime according to the internet," Ariadne said, reading from her phone. "Legend also says that the male selkies are supposed to be pretty hot in human form."

"Yes, that's in line with what I've heard as well," Eames agreed. 

"So, nature and naked people dancing on the beach," Arthur mused. "Sounds like a decent vacation to me."

* * * * *

_PRESENT_

Arthur returns to the boat the next day armed with snacks, a book and his Swiss army knife. Low tech is the compromise. He'll relax, read a book. Maybe some fiction, for once.

* * * * *

It takes him less than two hours to give up on the book (the pages got wet in a splinter-related accident). He finishes the snacks while watching for signs of animal life—both mundane and magical. It gets pretty boring after an hour of nothing. 

* * * * *

Fuck low tech. Fuck unplugging.

* * * * *

_PAST_

"Do you remember that job in Nepal?" Eames asked, not even looking over his shoulder as Arthur approached. "The one with the –"

"Buddhist monastery," Arthur finished as he took a seat beside Eames at the edge of the pond. "Got cut to pieces at the end of that dream, but we pulled it off. Barely."

Eames skipped a stone across the surface of the water. "I liked the setting. Rather peaceful. Could have done with a bit more water nearby, though."

"Too high altitude for me," Arthur said. "Not a fan of being trapped in the mountains."

"Is that why you were in such a foul temper during that whole job? Altitude sickness?"

"Foul temper? I wasn't--"

"You called me reckless and irresponsible after our first run-through together," Eames interrupted. "And as I recall, you tried to fire me from the job on three separate occasions."

"Huh." Arthur leaned back on his palms. He'd forgotten all about that. "I thought I was hiding it pretty well. Maybe I was a little cranky."

"Maybe?" Eames sounded amused as he skipped another stone. " _Maybe?_ "

Arthur chuckled. "Okay, fine. I felt like shit and was an asshole because of it. In my defense, you were reckless during that whole job. The mark nearly made us before the extraction."

"Perhaps I was a bit careless," Eames conceded. "There was someone I wanted to impress and I might have gone about it the wrong way."

Arthur glanced at Eames out of the corner of his eye. Eames had been devastatingly beautiful when they'd first met, and carried with him a sort of coltish awkwardness, a sense of never being quite comfortable with his lean body. He'd always seemed too eager to forge, too eager to change skins.

That awkward energy had dissipated in the intervening years, settled into a sort of serene confidence. It was nice. Sexy.

"Sorry about being a dick," Arthur said as he attempted to skip his own stone. It hit the water and promptly sank. "And for the record, you don't need to try to impress anyone anymore. Your work is impeccable."

"Thank you." Eames took Arthur's hand and guided his toss. The stone skipped halfway across the pond. "Though I feel I should remind you that not everything is about work."

Arthur looked down at their fingers, still touching. "For now it is." He stood. "I should get back to it."

Eames tipped back his head, looking up. "And what comes after that?"

"I don't know," Arthur said. "Maybe I'll go on vacation. I'll have earned it, right?"

* * * * *

_PRESENT_

By the third day, Arthur comes prepared with meals, his laptop, and a cell phone. 

He rows himself to his usual spot and sighs with relief once the internet connects. Finally.

He's in the midst of clearing his inbox (over one thousand emails, most spam, one from Eames about an upcoming job) when he hears—well, he's not sure what he hears, exactly. It sounds like a wave hitting the side of the boat, which is odd since the water has been quiet these past few days and there isn't much wind.

Arthur scans the surroundings for what might have caused the disturbance. He doesn't see anything, and returns to his email.

He's in the middle of composing a reply to Eames when the second wave hits. Then a third, and fourth, all in rapid succession. Arthur barely grabs hold of his laptop before the whole vessel is tipping, leaning precariously in a way that makes Arthur's stomach drop. Because fuck, his boat isn't going to sink because of a leak--it's going to motherfucking flip over and trap him underneath.

He readies himself to go under, mind whizzing with whether he can save his laptop or cell or both (probably not). 

Something heaves itself onto his boat. Something huge.

Arthur flings himself backwards and away from the intruder.

It's a walrus. Two enormous tusks, a giant bald head, and a full mustache of whiskers on top of a thousand pound body. Likely the source of the 'waves'.

Not only that, but the walrus is clutching a live fish in its mouth.

It drops the fish by Arthur's feet. 

Arthur looks at the walrus and it looks back at him, almost—expectant. Not that Arthur's an expert on walrus facial cues. For all he knows, the walrus is actually signaling constipation or pondering the mysteries of the cosmos.

Arthur stares at the walrus. The walrus stares back at Arthur. The fish flops urgently between them.

The walrus is the first to move. Its whiskers twitch and it pushes the fish forwards with a flipper, sending the boat rocking all over again. Arthur clutches the sides of the boat, trying to determine whether diving overboard and trying to swim away might be the best course of action. It would put some distance between him and a enormous wild animal that could flatten him. But he's not sure he can outpace it.

The walrus nudges the fish again.

"I appreciate the gesture," Arthur says, which isn't, strictly speaking, true. "But I ate already. I'm not hungry at the moment."

The walrus gives him a skeptical look.

"I brought my own lunch. You know, human food." Arthur eyes the squashed remains of a sandwich underneath the walrus's right flank. "Anyway, you probably worked hard for that fish. You know, chasing and snatching it from the ocean. You should keep it."

The walrus grunts, but doesn't move otherwise.

"Seriously though," Arthur says. "I don't know how to gut a fish and I'm not going to eat it raw. You should have it."

With what Arthur could swear is a grin, the walrus devours the fish in one long swallow and slips over the side of the boat with impressive strength and speed, if not agility or grace.

Arthur stares into the water, but the walrus is gone. What the fuck just happened?

  


* * * * *

Maybe Arthur should have asked Eames out for a drink at the end of the Inception job. Or at least asked where he was headed.

Totally against post-job protocol of course, but those lips are probably worth the security risk. Eames is a fantastic kisser, from what Arthur can remember of that blurry night back in Michoacán. Too bad gun-wielding cartel members had burst into the bar before they could get any further than kissing.

Arthur thinks about it, from time to time, mostly while he's in the shower or just woken up in bed. The way Eames curled his fingers over Arthur's shoulder, sliding up to stroke his neck. The way Eames nipped at Arthur's bottom lip and retreated before plunging back in for a deeper kiss. How he smelled like cheap tequila and tasted of the sea—saltwater, maybe. Hard to describe but strangely enough, not off-putting.

At the time, it would have been nothing more than a quick, one-off fuck. Eames was sexy, sure, but he was also unstable and careless and a pain in the ass (not in a good way). 

Nowadays, though—Eames isn't that same annoying kid Arthur used to know. Maybe it wouldn't be some one-off anymore.

* * * * *

Arthur returns to the shore the next day, armed with research on the walrus (small adult male judging by the scarring and tusk color). He's packed all of his belongings in waterproofing devices, also known as plastic bags. They won't do shit if a one ton animal rolls over it, but it will guard against reckless splashing and fish smells.

Arthur decides to stay on land today. He's only got a few days left in the Faroe Islands and he's not going to be cowed into spending them in a hotel room. He's going to be in nature, goddamnit.

Things go well for the first few hours. No local wildlife emerges to proffer squirming fish. The clouds from yesterday have mostly cleared overhead.

Arthur takes a break from checking his email to stand. He takes a short walk around the area to stretch and returns to his seat, bending over to shake a pebble out of his shoe.

When he turns back to his laptop, he discovers a mess of papers and electronics strewn across the beach--with a familiar walrus smack dab in the middle of it all.

"How—" Arthur stares in bafflement. "How did I not hear you? Where the hell did you come from?"

The walrus seems to wink at him.

Arthur considers trying to shoo it away and reclaim his work, but he's read about how territorial they can be. The last thing he wants is to fight an angry pinniped.

He decides to wait it out. Surely a sensible walrus will get bored with being on land, nowhere near food, and return to the ocean eventually. 

Arthur takes a seat and waits.

He waits.

And waits.

An hour passes and the walrus shows no sign of moving. It seems completely content to lie in the sand, rolling around occasionally (though it has not flattened Arthur's laptop or other electronics yet). He may have to call the earbuds wires tangled in the walrus' tusks a loss, however.

He should have asked Eames out for a drink, Arthur thinks glumly. He could be balls deep in a gorgeous man right now, instead of hanging out in the middle of spooky nowhere with a clingy walrus.

At long last, the waiting pays off. The walrus' eyes close and a truly mammoth snore emanates from its chest, each breath punctuated by an unlikely whistle.

Arthur makes sure it's truly unconscious before beginning to gather his things. He starts with items furthest from the creature.

He collects his possessions, with the exception of his phone and earbuds, which are still tangled in the walrus' tusks. He's contemplating whether to abandon them when the walrus opens its eyes. It looks around at the cleared beach and appears to grin at him.

"You think you're hilarious, don't you?" Arthur says, and realizes he's been solitary and silent for too many days in a row. Because he's talking to a fucking walrus.

The walrus inclines its head as if to say, _yes, I do_.

"It would benefit us both for me to reclaim those earbuds." Arthur points to the wires. "You stay still while I detangle."

The walrus vocalizes softly as if to signify his agreement. Not that animals can enter into agreements with lunatic humans risking their lives for electronics.

"I'm going to get a Darwin Award for this," Arthur mutters as he advances slowly. "Gored to death on an island in the middle of nowhere, body undiscovered for months."

Despite Arthur's trepidation, the walrus stays perfectly still and doesn't startle as Arthur reaches out carefully to touch an earbud. It watches him with sharp, startlingly intelligent eyes as he unwinds the wires and avoids touching its face.

After he's done, Arthur takes a step back. The walrus seems to smile, lets out a deep bellow, and saunters back into the water.

"Okay then," Arthur says as it disappears into the horizon.

  


* * * * *

Arthur's in a cabin lying on a bearskin rug.

He's pretty sure he's in a dream, and a quick grasp of his totem confirms that. He can remember going to bed, and the dream has a scattered, hazy quality that indicates it's not PASIV-induced. It's been a while since he had a natural dream and he decides to relax into it, enjoy it.

He's lying under a cozy blanket, though it doesn't feel like any other blanket he's used before—a bit too heavy and firm, maybe, the texture strange. It smells a little like the beach. 

"This is a pleasant surprise," a familiar voice murmurs in Arthur's ear.

Arthur rolls over and catches Eames' lips with his. "Lucky you."

Eames chuckles as he crawls on top of Arthur, already naked. The lines of his body are smudges and shadows--not the lovingly rendered detail Arthur would have preferred--but he's not going to complain. "What are you doing out here, I wonder?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm on vacation." Arthur kisses a line down Eames' throat, imagining what fucking him is going to feel like. Goddamned amazing, probably.

"Always imagining the past or the future, even on holiday." Eames catches Arthur's face in his hands, halting his progress. "Have you ever tried staying in one place, one moment?"

Arthur blinks, unable to look away from Eames' eyes, flecked with grey and green. "If I did, what would happen?"

Eames smiles. "Perhaps you'd like what turns up."

* * * * *

Arthur spends his last day doing work further inland, possessions secure by his side.

He's not sure why he's surprised when he looks up from his laptop to find the walrus reading over his shoulder.

Arthur sighs. "You again."

The walrus tickles Arthur's shoulder with its whiskery mustache.

"You know it took me an hour to get my papers back in order, right?" Arthur says. "Thanks to you, there's sand in every crevice of my laptop and cell phone."

The walrus seems unrepentant.

"Are you going to cause any more trouble?" At the walrus' guileless expression, Arthur raises an eyebrow. "I'm going to take that as a no. But any ruckus out of you and I'm gone."

The walrus puffs up its chest and butts his head against Arthur's side, which nearly knocks him over.

"Alright, go easy on me, big guy," Arthur says, recovering his balance. "We're not in the same ballpark when it comes to body mass." 

The walrus makes a series of clicking sounds that Arthur would almost swear were Morse code if he weren't, you know, dealing with a wild animal. It rubs its head against Arthur's hip and settles down into a comfortable spot.

Arthur has a good afternoon. He gets to inbox zero, checks in for his flight tomorrow, and even reads an e-book version of the paperback that had been ruined earlier.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," Arthur says as he shuts his laptop and stows it away.

The walrus, which had been dozing beside him, sits up.

Arthur takes out a sandwich and begins to eat. "Tomorrow my vacation's over and it's back to work. Real work, I mean. Not what I've been doing the past few days."

The walrus snuffles.

"Yeah, I can't believe the time's gone by this quickly either," Arthur says. "It's been—well, it's been strange, big guy. Don’t think I'll be forgetting you."

The walrus nuzzles Arthur's hand with his whiskers— _mustacial vibrissae_ , they're called--and coos.

Arthur stands and turns to go. He hears a delicate, strangely familiar cough. He looks back and where the walrus had been sits Eames, clad in a walrus suit.

Arthur's reaching for his totem and knife before Eames—or whoever it is—can say a word. He left his gun in his hotel room, a clear mistake. "Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?"

Eames lifts his hands in the air as the walrus pelt slips down to his waist. "I'm Eames. This isn't a forgery. It's all real."

"How is that possible?" Arthur keeps his knife out, because his totem agrees that it's reality, but--seriously? "How did you—"

"Old magic. Or some phenomena science hasn't quite been able to explain yet," Eames replies with a wry smile. "I'm a selkie."

Arthur lowers the knife fractionally. "If wearing an animal suit is your idea of a joke—"

Eames slides the pelt on and that familiar walrus reappears. Arthur nearly falls over.

"Holy fuck," Arthur says, when Eames transforms back into human form. "Holy fuck."

"It's really me. And this isn't a dream," Eames says, as the walrus pelt slips down his shoulders and waist.

Arthur stares at Eames' gorgeous bare chest, mouth going dry. Defined pectoral and abdominal muscles, a smattering of chest hair. He shakes himself. Focus. "How do I know it's really you, Eames? Not someone running a job on me?"

"We worked together in Nepal. You hated every second of it, and not just because of altitude sickness."

"I didn't hate it completely," Arthur says, bringing his knife down to his side. "There were some—good points."

"We worked together in Mexico." There's something nearly coy in the twitch of Eames' lips. "There were some good points there, too."

Arthur sheaths his knife. He still feels uneasy, even if he's pretty sure this is Eames. "You've been following me around."

"Technically, you're the one that followed me here. Seeing as this is my home." Eames stands, stark naked, and yeah, it's as gorgeous as Arthur imagined it would be. 

"Why didn't you say something?" It takes Arthur a minute to cobble the words together, in between all the gawking.

"I was curious as to why you'd come out here." Eames gathers his pelt and slings it over his shoulder. "Also, I thought you'd realize it was me."

"For the record, I don't go around assuming every wild mammal I see is actually a man in disguise. Although maybe I should from now on," Arthur says. "Is this why you can forge in dreams?"

"I suspect it is, yes. When I first heard about dreamshare, I thought it'd be my chance to explore the dreams and memories of men, go places I had never been before," Eames says. "It is—difficult for me to be far from water for too long."

"Right, because you're—" Arthur's gaze slides to the pelt. "Can I…?"

Eames seems to tense for a moment before saying, sounding near prim, "You may."

Arthur touches the pelt and it feels—real. As textured and nubby as the skin of a walrus, tusks rough and worn. Eames stands very still, only the slightest shiver betraying his connection to it when Arthur removes his hand.

"This is pretty trippy," Arthur says. "You sure this isn't a dream?"

Eames reaches out to skate his fingertips down Arthur's cheek. "If it is, then I've been living in it my whole life."

"That's not exactly reassuring." Arthur suppresses his own shiver as Eames' touch.

"No point in worrying about something I can't control," Eames says, sounding philosophical. "Have you enjoyed your vacation?"

"I—" Arthur isn't sure how to answer that. Sitting on a boat doing nothing was pretty boring. Answering emails was work as usual. And interacting with a walrus-that-was-secretly-Eames was kind of fun, actually. Aside from the fear of being capsized, gored, or trampled. "I think I did."

"Good." Eames' fingers drop to Arthur's neck, the hollow of this throat.

"If I put on your pelt, can I transform into a walrus, too?"

Eames blinks, visibly startled by the question, and chuckles. "You—you want to become a walrus?"

Arthur shrugs. "I've never really thought about it before, but it seems like it would be interesting. Swimming around in the ocean, diving without needing scuba gear, you know."

Eames gives Arthur an assessing look. Without warning, he grabs Arthur by the shoulders and kisses him—a brief, dry, press of mouths and then withdrawal. It's over so quickly Arthur doesn't even get the chance to close his eyes.

"Do you remember what happened that night in Mexico?" Arthur blurts out.

"You know I do." Eames smiles. It's not a wolfish smirk like Arthur expects. It's sweet, maybe. "I enjoyed it immensely, but I'm glad we were interrupted."

"What?" Arthur blinks. "Really?"

"I don't think we were quite ready for all that." Eames begins to undo the buttons of Arthur's shirt.

"I was ready," Arthur protests, eager to encourage the direction Eames seems to be going in. "I was most definitely ready."

Eames slips his hands underneath Arthur's open shirt and tugs him into a sort of standing, cuddling embrace. Eames is still naked, of course, while Arthur is mostly clothed aside from his bare chest, and the whole thing is—weird. But the skin-on-skin contact is enjoyable.

"Maybe I wasn't ready," Eames murmurs against Arthur's neck. "I was a bit of a mess, then."

Arthur finally begins to relax, palms coming up to skim Eames' back, his incredible ass. "You are..."

"Amazing? Magical? Mysterious?" Eames suggests between soft kisses.

"Gorgeous. Bizarre." Arthur rests his forehead against Eames'. "Completely unexpected."

Eames graces Arthur with another small kiss. "Acceptable."

"You know, I came here expecting some mermaids and mermen." Arthur keeps his tone deadpan. "Can you point me in the right direction to find them before I go?"

Eames tickles Arthur's side. "I didn't go through all the trouble of courting you simply to allow some gill-heads to lure you to a watery death."

Arthur blinks. "Were you courting me with that fish?"

"What else would I court you with?"

"Were you really expecting me to eat it live?"

"Why not? It's fresher that way," Eames says, and he doesn't seem to be joking. 

Arthur chuckles. "If Ariadne could see us now."

Eames sniffs. "She would have appreciated the excellent fish I caught."

Arthur thumbs Eames' nose, watches it twitch with phantom whiskers. "Maybe all I need is the magic."

_Fin_

  



End file.
